When the Rain Stops. (standard:drama, 2999 words)
Author: Nothingman	Added: Apr 07 2002	Views/Reads: 3051/2102	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
An emotional story of a young mans struggle to come to terms with the death of his father.

Click here to read the first 75 lines of the story

of my hand." "You alright?" "Yeah, try it again." I turn the key to the 
ignition of my car. The engine coughs and splutters but doesn't start. 
"Okay, okay hang on."                                               Dad 
is under the hood trying to fix the timing. I sit in the driver's seat 
wondering if I should tell him or not. I decide to bite the bullet and 
call out. "Dad." He answers but his voice is muffled. "I got called 
into the principal's office yesterday." I wait for a reply but there's 
none. "Dad." "What the hell did you do?" "Nothing." "So he just called 
you in for coffee, maybe milk and biscuits?" "No." "Well, what?" "He 
thinks I graffitied the school crest." "And did you?" "No." "Try the 
engine again." I turn the key and pump the peddle a couple of times. 
The engine starts but then dies almost immediately. "Shit. You didn't 
pump the pedal too much did you?" "No." I start fiddling with my keys. 
"So did you tell him you didn't do it?" Dad calls out from under the 
bonnet. "Yeah, of course." "Did he believe you?" "No." "Do you know who 
did it?" "Kind of." "And he's a friend, right?" "Yeah, kind of." "And 
you don't want to tell on him?" "Yeah." "Well, if he was any kind of 
friend he wouldn't put you in that position. Try the engine again." I 
turn the key a third time and it rumbles to life. Dad walks around; his 
face is red and sweaty and his hands are covered in grease and blood. 
He has an accomplished look on his face. "Give it a bit." I put my foot 
to the accelerator and the engine roars. I smile back. "Cool, thanks." 
Dad walks up into the house. I kill the engine and follow him in. He's 
in the kitchen washing his hands. "You have two choices," he says, "you 
can confess or take the blame yourself." "I'm already aware of that." 
"You know what my Dad use to say?" I shake my head. Dad cleans the 
blood of his hand exposing the cut along the back. "He use to say 
loyalty above all else." "Really?" Dad nodded and replied, "Except 
honour." I ponder the thought as he dries his hands and finally I 
reply, "That makes it harder." He gives a wry grin and grabs his car 
keys "I know, but he was right. I have to go pick up your mother." 

People are milling around the house. ‘Family and friends' but I don't
really know them. Aunts, uncles, cousins, friends and workmates of 
Dad's. All offering condolences saying what a good man he was. A good 
friend, great father, loving husband. A bit late now, isn't it? I mean, 
what good does it do? I know he was a great father, a great friend -- 
that's what makes this such a tragedy. Why aren't they saying, I wish 
he was back, why did he have to die, this isn't fair? DAMN YOU GOD. Mum 
comes and sits next to me, she puts her arm around me and looks into my 
eyes and I look into hers. I've never seen such pain. Her eyes are red 
and swollen, her nose flared yet she manages a sad smile. "You 
alright?" she says on the brink of tears. I nod and say that I am. But 
it's a lie. Probably the biggest lie I've ever told. My body begins to 
shiver. My eyes sting and my head begins to pound. I excuse myself and 
say I'm going to the toilet. My head swirls as if a violent storm is 
about to break. Pushing past people, I hear faint whispers echoing in 
my ears, bouncing around getting faster and faster until I can't bear 
it any longer. I rip at my ears as I crash through the bathroom door. 
Collapsing to my knees I feel anguishing pain in my stomach, a pain so 
intense I feel my body shutting down. I think I'm going to pass out. An 
infinite darkness engulfs me. 

"I can't believe it. It's not fair, the bastard knew how important it
was to me." I was furious. I slammed the bottle of beer on the table. 
"Don't you dare speak about your father like that; you're just angry." 
"I'm not angry Mum, I'm disappointed, disappointed at him. He said he 
was going to come. He promised. I mean, if you can't rely on your 
father then who can you?" Mum moved closer and clutched my arms; she 
looked into my eyes and they instantly reached my heart. "He was 
afraid, afraid you'd be embarrassed." "Embarrassed of what?" "Of not 
living up to your expectations. You know he hasn't got a mathematical 
mind like yours. He was afraid he would embarrass you, in front of your 
friends." I picked up my beer and took a sip, "He still should have 
come or at least told me how he felt." I turned around to face Mum. 
"Maybe, but as well as being your father he is also just a man and he 
makes mistakes ... like everyone." 

I spit into the toilet and wipe the vomit from my lips with the back of
my hand. I feel a cold sweat envelop my body as a drip rolls down my 
back. Slowly I get up and stumble to the basin. My stomach churns again 
and I lean into the sink. But nothing comes up. Only a bead of sweat 
falls off my nose and runs straight through the drain. I turn on the 
tap and splash cold water over my face. For a second it brings relief, 
only to be followed by a pounding in my brain. I clutch my head as my 
legs seem to buckle. I can't handle this. I just want it to go. I want 
it to be over. Images flood my head, so many images it feels like I'm 
about to explode. And then suddenly, as quickly as it came, everything 
vanishes and I feel almost calm. I slowly get to my feet. Looking in 
the mirror I no longer recognise my own reflection. I stare into the 
night. The rain is still falling but somehow I can see the stars. Maybe 
they're just white dots in front of my eyes. I decide to use this calm 
sensation to advantage. I quietly sneak out unnoticed, grabbing the car 
keys along the way. I sit in the car and start the engine, rain lashing 
the windscreen. In a state of strange calm, I know exactly where I'm 
going. 

"Dad." "Yeah." "What was Grandpa like?" Dad ponders the question. He
sips his coffee as I slowly peel the label off my beer bottle in little 
strips. "He was a lot like you -- arrogant, annoying, not to mention 
ugly as a baboon butt." I smile at his joke. He smiles back. "No, 
seriously." Sitting back in his chair he stares out the window,  then 
replies, "I didn't really know him that well." "What do you mean?" 
"Well ... things weren't the same when I grew up." "Oh shit, here we go 
again." Rolling my eyes I await his answer. "Listen, smart ass. All I 
mean is, kids saw their fathers differently then." "This isn't that 
respect speech is it?" Dad sipped his coffee and shook his head. "No. 
Look, I know you respect me, and I respected my father. We just didn't 
have the same relationship. It's difficult to explain but I guess in my 
day your father was your father, not your friend. I mean, we both loved 
each other we, just didn't talk about it." "Do you wish it had been 
different?" "Not at all. Anyway, it's pointless wishing that something 
had been different. Focus your energy on the future not on the past." 

I slam on the brakes and the tyres slid to a stop across the muddy car
park. Turning off the engine, I finish off the bottle and get out. The 
rain lashes my face as the bottle crashes to the ground. I stumble up 
the path, lightening races across the sky and thunder vibrates through 
my body. I fall several times but finally reach the top. I stand there 
and look out across the ocean trying to pinpoint exactly where the vast 
black ocean meets the abundant dark sky, and with a flash of lighting I 
see it for a second. But then it's gone. I laugh out loud. "Hah, just 
like you ... give us a glimpse of something and then you take it away." 
Wind pounds my body and I use nearly all my strength to stay standing. 
"Well, I don't accept that. What right have you got to take something 
away from me?" My throat bleeds as I scream into the night. "I want him 
back, you hear me, I want Dad back. Say something, damn you. Answer 
me." A lightening bolt strikes the horizon followed by a horrific clap 
of thunder. "Is that the best you can do? I want him back or I'll take 
something from you." I climb over the guardrail, the force of the wind 
and rain fighting me every inch. "I want my Dad back, you hear me? Give 
him back or I'll take away what you gave me." My neck is strained as I 
yell out my threat. Tears are streaming down my face only to be washed 
away by the beating rain. Looking down, I can just see the waves 
pounding the rocks below. "This is your last fucking chance. Give my 
father's life back or I'll take mine," I plead. "I hate you God, you 
hear me... the last words I mouth to you are I hate you with every 
breath you gave me." My eyes are burning red as my voice begins to give 
way. "Oh God, Dad, I miss you so much. I don't want to stay here 
without you." With my last ounce of strength I whisper the words," I'm 
sorry Dad." Then I let go. 

I feel the wind against my body for a second and then nothing. I see the
stars above in the night sky, shining like the sparkling eyes. I feel 
someone is with me, but as I look around I see no one. "Dad?" My voice 
is swallowed by the night. "Yes." I swing my head around frantically as 
I recognise my father's voice. "Dad is that you? Where are you? I can't 
see you." Silence. "Dad?" "I'm in you." "In me? I don't understand." "I 
live in you now, I live through you. In your smile, in your eyes. In 
your passions, in your love. In your success and in your failure. 
That's what being a son is all about. I've given you what I learned 
just as my father did." "But I want you back." "You know that's not 
possible. I wish I could come back. So I could hug you one more time, 
shake your hand and tell you that the greatest honour I have is having 
a son like you. Watch you get married, hold my grandson in my arms. But 
now I experience all these things though you. If you die now, so will 
I." "I just miss you so much." "I miss you too, son, but I'll always be 
with you, in everything you do. I'm your father and you're my son and 
nothing can break that bond, not hate, not grief, not death, not even 
time." "I love you Dad." "I know you do, and I love you too. Now go 
home and give your mother a hug and a kiss. She needs you." 

I still remember that morning so vividly. Waking up lying on the ground.
The morning sun in my eyes. I got to my feet and looked out as the sun 
was just rising above the horizon. But the thing I remember the most is 
not the breathtaking sunrise or the strange circumstances of the night 
before. The thing I remember the most is the warmth. The warmth of the 
sun as it lightly touched my face and deeply penetrated my body. 
Whether I jumped that night or passed out and fell backward I do not 
know. All I know is that I went straight home and held my mother for as 
long as I could. I still miss my father and that night did not 
miraculously cure me of my grief. But everyday more and more I realise 
how much I'm like him in every aspect of my life. Without him, I would 
not be me. 


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